Outcast
by heavenlyhell0987
Summary: Max is a monster. She has no friends at all. Neither does Isaac. Can they find love? This is a true story, it's not mine. I know I suck at summaries.
1. Starting over

A.N. I own nothing of Maximum Ride.

I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. It was a regular pink t-shirt that anyone would wear. I took a quick look in the mirror at myself. I looked…preppy; with my honey blonde hair (naturally highlighted) and bright blue eyes. Colored contacts are so much better than clear ones. I quickly grabbed a hoodie off the hook. I mentally begged myself to remember not to push up the sleeves. On impulse my eyes had widened and I started to breath faster when thinking of the many, MANY, scenarios that would occur.

Breathe in, breathe out. That's something someone would tell me right now. But no one knows who I really am right now. I don't have any friends right now. It doesn't matter, though. I'll find some soon. After all: New school, new look, new friends, new life.

I've been doing awesome so far. I've been to one class and have already been deemed "not a freak". There's no such thing as normal as far as I'm concerned, but others think different. I haven't spoken to anyone yet, but the time will come. Speaking of which…

A boy with black hair and dark eyes parted with a group of friends to my right. He smiled friendlily at me.

"Hey, you're the new girl. Maxine, right?"  
I kept myself from correcting him on my name. Maxine is my name now.  
"Yeah," I said sweetly, forcing a smile.  
"Cool, I was in your first hour."  
Ah… So this boy saw me a couple minutes ago in class, one that I did not raise my hand in, and must have memorized my name off of the roll call.  
"Oh, cool." I agreed with more fake sweetness. I'm good at being fake, though. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."  
"Nick, but you can call me Fang." He said. "Umm… I was thinking since you're new and all you might need some help getting around."  
My smile grew a teensy bit genuine. I _was _completely lost.  
"Yeah, that'd be great, actually."  
"What's your next class?"  
I dug my brand new schedule out of my brand new paisley back pack that only sickened me a little.  
"Arts and humanities," I said.  
"Sweet, mine too. You can sit with me." He laughed.  
I laughed too and followed him down the hall.

Ha, take that, world! I already made a friend.

As we walked down the hallway, talking lightly, I spotted a poster meant to discourage self harm, most likely never even read. But just seeing it… I was sent into an array of flashbacks that three months of therapy can't reduce. And here's where the torture began.


	2. Three simple lines

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

"Shut up!" I groaned to myself before slamming my fist on the snooze button.

I freaking hate Mondays.

I managed my way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Yes, it's monstrous, I know. You might as well label me as a freak at six in the morning- Max eats breakfast.

My step-brother, Dylan, was already at the table, shoveling cereal down his throat in his boxers and t-shirt. His mom had constantly scolded him, saying he'll catch a cold, whatever. Dylan could block out noise pretty well.

When our parents (My dad Jeb and his mom, Bridget) got married about a year or two ago we were pretty good friends. We had a great relationship. I don't talk to him; he doesn't talk to me, and on the weekends we make our parents feel like we're one big happy family with normal mom and dad. But my dad's in his late fifties and his mom is thirty two. She had Dylan when she was sixteen. She still looks twenty and my dad looks even older, but what can I say? He's rich and she's good looking. They're a good match.

Since my father is oh-so-rich (He owns several science labs and office buildings) he's not home too often. I know for a fact he's cheating on Bridget. I also know Bridget's cheating on him. They also have a great relationship. But he makes her feel great by showering her and Dylan in money and gifts and expensive clothes. I can be included in all that, but I really don't want to. He probably doesn't even care that half the money he gives Dylan goes straight to his dope fund.

"Hey Max," He said, nodding at me.  
"Dylan," I murmured, pouring a bowl of cereal for myself.  
There was a pause as we finished our food.  
"Jeb and Bridget are gone," He noted. That's another thing, we call them by their first names. "They're probably at a hotel or something."  
I nodded. He was probably right.  
"So, no parents. Too hot teenagers in a house together. Alone…" He said, grinning suggestively. "What do you want to do?"  
I threw him a half hearted glare. I was used to his… Advances? Annoying-ness?  
"That's incest." I said, washing my bowl out in the sink.  
He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.  
"Not really." He said, too close to my ear. "We're not blood related."  
I rolled my eyes and shoved him.  
"Back off," I yawned.  
He made a face.  
"You wouldn't be such a freak if you had fun once and a while." He hollered as I walked up the stairs.  
"I'm not the one trying to bang a sibling." I reminded him before slipping behind my door.

I cranked up my music as I got ready for school. I flat ironed my hair-bleached to a platinum blonde. I'm not goth. I'm just not what society's blonde girl looks like. My eyes are a deep brown with tiny specks of gold. No one's got close enough to me to notice that, though. Or they at least haven't said anything. Maybe Dylan has.

I pulled on a midnight blue flannel shirt and over skinny jeans and a whip of mascara finished off my look. See? I told you I'm not goth.

I sprinted down the stairs. I saw Dylan putting on one of his obnoxious pairs of shoes. It's funny how he and his buddies hate Justin Beiber but dress just like him. I slipped on my favorite combat boots and was out the door without saying a word to him.

We both got in our cars and drove away from the gigantic mansion. A perk of being rich: You get any car you want because you're crazy father uses money as an apology for being an awful parent.

I parked at the back of the parking lot and waited until Dylan got out of his car. That's another unwritten rule of our family; we don't let anyone know we're family. We don't let anyone know we even know each other. I saw Dylan give a sloppy reunion kiss to his new girl friend. They haven't seen each other in about twenty whole hours! He walked to school with his arm wound tightly around Angel, who's a freshman. A junior dating a freshman? Stranger things have happened. And yes; he has a girlfriend. It doesn't matter, though. He has a new one every day. It's kind of sad. I kind of like this girl. There's something about her, a childlike innocence that really captures me, even if she is a bit of a control freak from what I hear. I usually hate all his bitches, but I don't want him to play her like he does all the others. Oh, well. There's nothing I can do about it.

School didn't start for another half hour and the parking lot was basically empty. I winced as the flannel brushed against my wrist when I reached to turn on the radio and yanked my arm back. I rolled up my sleeve to inspect my hand. Deep lines overlapping with thinner ones went up my forearm. Last night was bad. I have to stop doing that.

But I can't…

So before I could stop myself I took out my phone and google searched: Self Harm, Need Help.

I tapped on an awareness website. It was basically just a bunch of bullshit about not letting shit get to you. But one thing stood out at me.

_If you know someone that has harmed themselves, or have harmed yourself before, draw three black lines on your wrist this Monday. _

Hmmm… Today's Monday. What the hell? I rolled up the sleeve on my right arm, the clean one, and drew three lines with a sharpie. What's the worst that could happen?


	3. Nudge and Knight

It was the middle of the day and I was walking to my locker, which is- sigh- right next to Tiffany Fever's. We used to be friends a long time ago, when we were about eleven, when she went by her nick-name Nudge. But then she turned into a tall, skinny, beautiful girl with clear brown skin and long, wavy brown hair. Her hair used to be darker and more like an afro, but she thought she looked better this way. That's not a problem. Change is good. But she changed completely so that she could have more friends. That includes ditching me. I promised myself I will never be like her. I would never change for someone else.

I silently stood beside her and entered my locker combination. I saw her head turn a little; checking to make sure no one was around. Everyone had headed off to the cafeteria.

"Hey, Max." She said quietly, not looking at me and pretending to be focused on looking in her locker for something.  
"Nudge." I replied coldly.  
She laughed a little, trying to lighten the mood. "I haven't heard anyone call me that in a while."  
"Wonder why?" I muttered.  
She nose-breathed a little louder, irritated. She doesn't really like it when people get snippy with her.  
"You know, Max; If you weren't so freaking weird all the time you'd have more friends." She said, loud enough to be heard. Maybe she was just being a bitch. Maybe she saw her friends walk up behind her in the little compact mirror she was looking in to and didn't want to be seen talking to me. Probably both.  
"Like you?" I asked.  
She scoffed and slammed the door.  
"Tiffany!" Someone called, obviously waiting for her to meet up with them in the lunch room.  
"Why were you talking to _her_?" Her bitch friend Ella asked as they approached.  
Nudge laughed coldly. "I was trying to be nice."  
"That's the thing." Ella said as they walked out of the hall. "You can't be nice to freaks."  
I rolled my eyes and walked to the library. I don't eat lunch. There are too many tables, too many people who won't let me sit with them. No, it's better to just read in the library.

I walked to one of the large wooden tables in the farthest corner of the room.  
"Hey, Maxine." The librarian said politely.  
"Ms. Martinez." I responded, too irritated to carry on a conversation.  
She sensed this and retreated into her office as I worked on some homework. Knowing she was gone, I rolled up my sleeves, revealing the three lines I drew with sharpie.

Today there was another boy at the table across from mine. He was always at that same table during lunch, just like me. He's not goth- He's emo, just like me. He has long strawberry blonde hair that's always covering his eyes. His name is Isaac Knight as far as I know. I've never had any interaction with him, but I already respect him. We're both loners. I literally have no friends and I'm pretty sure he doesn't either.

He was in the same position as me, hair covering face, hunched over staring at a math book, _sleeves rolled up_. And then we both looked up at the exact same time.

It was the first time I had ever seen his eyes. They were a pale, ice blue color, almost clear. And they were focused on me.

He saw the three black lines on my arm, and I saw the three black lines on his.


	4. Bold

A.N. Iggy's name in this story is Isaac. In case you couldn't figure it out… Sorry for the slow update. Sue me.

He looked up at me and raised his eyebrows. And I did the same. He picked his backpack off the floor and slung it over his shoulder.

For a second I was worried he was going to go away. I don't know why I wanted him to stay here. Maybe I didn't want to be alone. But that's impossible. I love being alone.

Instead of walking out of the heavy wood doors of the library, he walked to my table and sat right across from me. I pretended not to notice.

Another weird thing: I felt my face grow hotter. Oh my god. I was blushing. I'm Max. I never blush. I especially don't blush because a boy shows me attention. So I was I blushing when a boy-one I have never interacted with in my life-simply sat down in front of me?

He didn't notice though. He was just studying in his book, completely ignoring me. I was grateful for that, though. I didn't want him to see me staring at his overgrown hair. In my defense it was an interesting color. It was a mix between light brown and red, very confusing. And his eyes, although I couldn't see them anymore, were such a pale blue. They were almost clear. And I didn't realize until just now when he stood up how incredibly tall he was. How had I never noticed him this much before?

"Cut yourself?" He mumbled, not looking up from his book.

What the hell?! He couldn't have been blunter! But he didn't say it rudely. He said it like he was genuinely curious- I couldn't hear him very well. He was muttering, after all.

"Yeah. You?"

I just surprised myself. I actually answered.

"Yeah." He said.

I didn't know what to say next. I'm not good at human interaction.

He looked up at me, his hair flipped to the side so I was able to see his eyes.

"Really… Let me see." He said after the long silence.  
This snapped me out of my trance.  
"What? No!"  
"Well," He sighed. "You either drew three black lines on your arms because you're an attention whore or because you knew no one would know what it meant anyways. So…"  
I raised my eyebrows. "Good theory."  
For some reason I did as he said and rolled up my other sleeve. Several thick red lines crossed with thin white ones.

"Wow," He muttered, impressed. "You have a serious problem. Those look pretty recent."

I blushed again and self consciously rolled my sleeve down.

"What about you? Attention whore? Or have you actually been on the website." I asked.

He grinned and pushed up his sleeve.

He had more scars than me, some looked older, though. A few rebellious ones went vertical, most went horizontal. None of them crossed.

"I have a thing for straight lines." He explained.

The bell rang and we both packed up our things.

I was already at the door when he was just barely leaving the table.

"Wait," He said as he caught up with me. "We have the same class next, right?"  
I thought for a moment. "Actually- I think we have all our classes together."  
"Cool. We should walk to art together." He said.  
I must have frowned too quickly.  
"It's okay. I know we both don't have any friends. So who's going to judge you for walking with me?"  
"I don't care if anyone judges me." I said quickly and coldly. "And why would they judge me for walking with you?"  
He rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty observant. I don't know if you've been able to figure it out, but people aren't exactly fond of you. That's okay, though. They hate me even more."  
I rolled my eyes back and we walked to class together in silence.

I noticed that Isaac was definitely bold, even a little rebellious. I'm not saying that I care what people think of me, I just don't bother to do anything. I'm not much of a fighter. I'm quieter than that.

Walking into the art room was never a good experience. People were allowed to talk and have fun, sit wherever they want. It's pure torture for me. I always sat in the corner of the room though, working quietly. It's better like this. If I don't pay attention to anyone, they have the common decency to not talk to me.

Isaac on the other hand…

He's like me. He also sits in the corner, working quietly. But right now I really wished we had assigned seats. Not only did he walk in with me, but he sat right next to me.

Not that people care about us. At all. But the two loneliest people in the world in the same place at once? It's enough to cause commotion. No one said anything directly to us. But I know people noticed. After all, that's what people do. They're cowards. They notice things, talk to their friends, laugh about things. It's all good fun.

"What are you doing?" I asked Isaac.  
"What?" He asked innocently.  
"You know what." I said, not looking him in the eye. "I already know they're talking."  
He shrugged. "I don't know why you care so much. It's not like you have any friends to impress."

Mean? Yes. True? Yes. But when he said this… It sort of ignited a spark in me. Why DID I care so much?

I worked on my project. This class was so free formed. The assignment for this week is to draw and paint something fitting the criteria written on the white board; organic shapes, neutral colors, things of that sort. You walk into class and do your work while Ms. Norse sits at her desk and reads. Doing your work isn't required, actually. You just can't be loud enough to the point where the people in the classroom next door have to walk over and complain. You also can't fling paint at each other. That rule comes up a lot. You just have your work completed and well done by the end of the week.

I couldn't focus. First of all, someone was sitting next to me. I could literally see him next to me. And he was there willingly. Dylan didn't count. He's just a horny teenager. Parents don't count either, they have to see their kids. Isaac was literally sitting next to me with his own free will. Like, if I stuck my hand out to the side I could touch him. Very creepy, I know. I just couldn't beat this information into my brain.

The whispers weren't helping with my concentration, either.

One girl, Alyssa, was talking to her boyfriend Brad. They weren't speaking meanly, so to speak, but… I didn't like them noticing.

"Wow. Looks like Knight actually made a friend." Brad muttered.  
"Shut up," Alyssa said, playfully hitting him. "It's cute."  
"Yeah," He sighed. "I guess. I was starting to feel bad for them, being alone all the time…"

And that was the end of that conversation. Not all of the others were said so nicely. No one actually yelled something to us. No one said anything too loud. They're cowards, anyways.

"Look," Brook hissed to Corbin. "Losers found love."  
He snickered. "Well, no one else would touch them. They might as well touch each other."

I tensed. I wasn't the only one listening on their conversation.

"Want me to kick some ass?" Isaac whispered jokingly.  
I couldn't help but smile. I shook my head.  
"You don't talk much, do you?" He asked.  
I shrugged. "I used to. I don't really care anymore."  
He smiled. I noticed my hand had just been sitting on the table, useless. He squeezed it, causing me to blush again.

A/N: Ok, I think I need to clear up a few more things in advance. First, this part of the story is a little heartwarming to me. It reminds me of the time when real life Isaac and real life Max were first starting to build a friendship. This is story takes place before I even met real life Max back in London, and she gave me permission to write this.

Also, Isaac really was this straight forward when they first met. He was relatively flirty and was honestly that blunt about her scars. THE HAND SQUEEZE was probably not meant as a romantic gesture. No, but it was the beginning of a friendship.

These two honestly didn't have any friends. Those nerdy kids (yay nerd pride) had each other. These two LITERALLY didn't have anyone. This isn't an exaggeration. I can't stress their loneliness enough.

The creepy brother is real. Honestly, he really is cute. And it may just be my ADHD but real life Max is pretty, too. So I never understood why everyone rejected her so much. I guess she rejected everyone else and they just returned the favor.

Okay, last thing before I get a lot of reviews about how Isaac should be Fang, not Iggy. There are a lot of reasons for this. First of all, real life Isaac actually did have really pale blue eyes like Iggy. He was tall and thin, too. I get how Fang is supposedly the emo one, but I don't want to make this a Fax story. If you think hard about it, Fang would be accepted greatly in school. I specifically remember him making out with a girl when he went to school. "Isaac" fit Iggy's character much better.


End file.
